Saturday, December 21, 2002

The perky red-head was loading her belongings in her satchel, preparing to go home from work. She tried to put a book into the bag. But the book would not go all the way down and sit squarely in the bag. There was something in the way.

The perky red-head reached in to remove the obstacle from under the book. It was probably a pen or a highlighter.

Her hand moved into the bag boldly. And touched something soft, cold and slightly damp. She pulled the object up. "OH S#!T, IT'S A DEAD MOUSE" she screamed silently in her head. Had anyone seen? No. Quick get some tissue. Wrap it up. Where to put it?

Yes, there had been mice in the perky red-head's house. Not just any mice, mind you. They were housemouses. The cat had even caught one -- once. The mouse must have been drunk, veered off the road and slammed into the cat's face with enough force to trigger an autonomic nerve spasm resulting in the opening of the cat's jaws which subsequently closed on the aforementioned mouse. She was just that kind of good for nothing cat -- all looks, no brains. Should have let those ants have the cat. Make a note to self: Fire the cat!

Where to put it? She look furtively around. The garbage can was just too mundane. Brunettes and blondes might throw it in the trash. But our perky red-head was no ordinary girl. A dead mouse is not a useless mouse.

She thought about putting the little dead one in the printer paper tray. Management would have Terminix up here so damn fast, the sonic boom would hurt your ears.

Then she saw it. The perfect place. Her coworker's fuzzy, plush, red Christmas, stocking. Hanging by the cubicle with care. Such a present! Merry Christmas. Hee Hee Hee.

Friday, June 21, 2002

When last we left our one perky red head, she was fighting off a flight of winged ants. This is nothing unusual for our one perky red-head except that the damn ants were in her living room.

Initially she feared that this might be an out break of the dread termites from planet Terminix. However, quickly referring to her much beloved and dog-eared copy of Entomology for theRestless and the Doomed, she soon determined that the creatures were merely the Sim variety of ants.

Oh, my God!!!!! What do you mean 'merely the Sim variety of ants.'

Did you see what happened in SIMAnt. It was horrible. First the ants started kicking centipede ass, then they stoned a trap-door spider to death. They invaded the house. They drove the family into the next township. AND THEY ATE THE CAT!!!!

By the way, who would want to eat a cat? Who would want to be on that side of a cat's feeding chain? Our perky red-head doesn't eat anything that licks its butt. After all, you must have standards.

Back to the ants.

It's a diabolical thing when, with the whole bloody great outdoors available, the ants pick YOUR living room to well up through.

What can she do? They're in her living room. They're coming for her. For her family. Her cat should start worrying. However, her cat is intellectually challenged (even for a cat) so she will have to worry for the cat (it's a proxy-thing, ok).

It's time to escape with the camper to Lake Sangris and bomb the house. That ought to take care of that little fruit fly problem too.